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2hightocare · 2 months

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LOVE WAGER! 02

Synopsis: The concept of love resurfaces as you both agree to center your psychology project on the premise that love is a choice. You propose an intriguing idea to Jungkook: he must exert every effort to make you fall in love with him within a month, to back up his belief.

Pairings: jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. angst/romantic comedy.

Warnings: mentions of divorce parents, neglectful parents, mentions of depression, banter, cussing, ex girlfriends, flashbacks, jungkook low key being super mean and discarding people’s feelings, jungkook hard-key depressed, implications of sex.

a/n: hai… this is so long overdue— exams month is coming and I had the biggest writers block fr but here’s my beloved babies. Song of the chapter— “love is embarrassing” by Olivia Rodrigo.

prev chapter! series masterlist!

Love.

Love is an intricate subject in its own right. Scientists elucidate it through the interplay of three cerebral chemicals: noradrenaline, dopamine, and phenylethylamine.

That's how Jungkook perceived love. He didn't subscribe to the notion of butterflies in the stomach or the fluttering heartbeat as justifications for love. To him, love was a scientific phenomenon, a complex emotion akin to sadness or jealousy-if he could evade such feelings, he would spare no effort.

But why did his stomach churn as if his organs were performing tiny somersaults whenever he gazed at you a tad too long? You were engrossed in the menu, pondering whether to get a burger or a slice of pizza.

Seated beautifully in your loose red Formula One shirt, Jungkook couldn't fathom how you managed to make that oversized shirt look so good.

Jungkook's eyes dropped to the ribbon in your hair, wondering why someone who was a full-on adult looked pretty, adorable even-with a red ribbon tied into a beautiful bow contrasting your skin and eyes. Your long eyelashes entranced him. He felt his stomach do something, a turn? Maybe his stomach was upset-he thought to himself.

Jungkook couldn't believe he found himself willingly sharing a table with you at the same dinner two years ago, he almost killed you at. He had moved to Emberhill U two years ago, ever since he moved out from his mom's house. Jungkook's life had gone to hell, which is exactly what his mind would tell him ever since his mom got a boyfriend. To make matters worse, he now had step-siblings.

He hated every bit of it. He wasn't jealous whatsoever.

It was the fact that his mom seemed to forget he even existed in the first place. Jungkook was hurt. He tried not to dwell or cry about it since he was a big boy-that's what he told himself now, pushing twenty-two, but still, part of his already broken heart shattered more.

How could your mom forget about her child? How could she not care about her only flesh and blood? He never told her that ever. Talking about his feelings with his mom was like talking to a brick wall that nothing could pass through. Plus, Jungkook wasn't good at communicating or talking about his feelings anyway. He found it embarrassing to lay yourself out there for someone to be able to discard you at any given moment.

Jungkook's dad wasn't any different as wellbeing too busy with work to even call him to ask his son if he was okay or how school is going. But the calls or text messages never came. Jungkook was used to it. It was his everyday. It was more shocking when he did call, but he wouldn't know what that would feel like since he never called ever since the divorce. Jungkook knew the divorce wasn't his fault whatsoever. His therapist—that his high school counselor made him go to—basically talked his ear off about how anything that happened wasn't his fault, but still, it felt like it was.

Ever since everything went down, his parents seemed to forget they had a child, who still needed them.

One advantage of his situation was the freedom to do as he pleased without his parents' interference. However, the downside was their lack of concern for his activities or just him in general. Jungkook was certain: if his parents didn't love him, who else in the world would? So, he didn't believe in love. When the two people meant to demonstrate unconditional love failed to do so, he doubted anyone else would. He would like to say that it didn't affect him and it's been years since everything, but deep down it still did.

Jungkook experiences a pang of guilt every time he looks at you. Perhaps it's the way he behaved when he first met you, the influence of the romantic comedy in your hands causing him to lash out at you.

Something about your ribbons makes him feel that you’re too innocent and naive for this world—part of him wants to shield you from its harsh realities, while another part wants to disillusion you about the cruelty of the world and the disparity between love in fairy tales and reality.

"Are you done daydreaming?" You say, interrupting his thoughts. Jungkook shakes his head, attempting to banish his thoughts before raising an eyebrow at your curious doe eyes. "I wasn't daydreaming," he states proudly, prompting a scoff from you, a grin tugging at Jungkook's lips.

"It was either daydreaming or checking me out since you were staring at me for a hot minute, but I decided otherwise since you have a girlfriend," you quip nonchalantly before calling the waiter to take your order.

"First of all, I don’t have a girlfriend, and second of all, what if I was checking you out?" Jungkook challenges. He didn’t know why he enjoyed getting on your nerves—any other person he would probably flip off and never give them the time of day, but instead, here he was with you doing the complete opposite.

"What happened to the girl from the dinner?" You question, your eyes finally meeting his brown ones. A glint of something passes over his eyes before disappearing as quickly as you saw it—so you thought maybe you had imagined it.

"Who?" Jungkook says, tilting his head to the side as he leans forward, his elbows propped on the table. "the one you mentioned to me two years ago? The one you discussed intimately," you mimic his voice. Jungkook's smile widens, amused by your jest.

"If you want to know so badly, we broke up—well, she broke up with me," Jungkook clicks his tongue, observing your expressions closely. He notices the creases of your forehead whenever you are thinking or the way you bite your lower lip to contain a smile that’s threatening to come out, each time Jungkook says something dumb.

"Oh, let me guess, she wanted love letters and sweet words whispered into her ear," you mock him, knowing he said that he didn’t need to do any of that to keep a girl. "You’re annoying, Ribbons," Jungkook shakes his head with a low soft chuckle.

You watch him pick up the menu and start scanning the items as you observe him. You notice how his jaw clenches momentarily before relaxing, his tongue poking on the inside of his cheek, making you wonder if you angered him—and if you did, maybe you should do it more often since he looked hot—

Record scratch.

Your mind was playing games with you the more you watched the raven-haired boy. The more you realized he was the epitome of the boy you imagined whenever you were reading a book, the dimples on his cheeks, the scar right above his cheekbone, and the mole underneath his bottom lip had you wanting to ask him for his whole life story.

He also looks like those cute love song playlists that had all your favorite songs in them, but you knew from the way he acts around you, it was definitely a hard no and maybe you were delusional after all. So you try hard to shove those ideas into the back of your brain as far as you could.

"I knew that you couldn’t keep a girlfriend," you shrug, prompting a gasp from him as he jokingly places a hand on his heart, as if you had just dealt him a mortal blow.

"Wow, YN doesn’t think I’m boyfriend material?" Jungkook gasps dramatically, shaking his head.

"You’re literally everything that's not boyfriend material," you throw your head back with a laugh, observing his widened eyes with amusement evident on his face. "Ouch," Jungkook scoffs dramatically.

"What makes you say I’m not boyfriend material?" he says, scanning the room for a waiter but finding none, before redirecting his attention to you.

"You don’t believe in love, that's one way to start," you point out, eliciting a hum of agreement from him. "What's that got to do with being a good boyfriend? I assure you that a good boyfriend isn’t necessarily head over heels in love," Jungkook says, as if imparting a valuable lesson, while your facial expression betrays you.

"The fuck? You literally hate everything related to love. Being a good boyfriend means doing cliche shit you hate doing so much, how could you possibly be boyfriend material?" you assert proudly, prompting an eye-roll from him.

"All that stuff is just superficial shit that everyone collectively agreed on. It’s just embarrassing how people put themselves go through all that just to make someone lik—“

"Love," you interject, earning yourself a glare from across the table.

"Like I was saying, I stand by the fact all those stupid romantic gestures are pointless. Society basically romanticized love and set up unrealistic expectations— everything just leads to heartbreak and disappointment," Jungkook continues, you watch how the hard expression on his face wavers to something more… sad, like he was talking from experience.

"Have you ever experienced love?" you inquire, not sure why since you guys weren’t even friends in the first place—the only reason you found yourself sitting with him willingly was because of psychology class.

"What?" Jungkook is caught off guard by the sudden question.

"Have you ever been in love?" you reiterate, observing his expression harden once more. "No, never, and I don’t plan to," Jungkook shrugs, going back to his usual cocky self in a blink of an eye, prompting yet another eye-roll from you, marking thirty-eighth.

You didn’t get the chance to reply since a waiter came to your table, apologizing for taking so long to get to us before taking our orders.

You and Jungkook decided on sharing a pizza, and you obviously ordered a coke, which got Jungkook joking about how he isn’t trying to make you choke again, which had the waiter shifting uncomfortably beside you both while Jungkook had an eating-shit grin on his face.

“That’s not what he meant!” You chuckled nervously, your face reddening, matching your shirt from how embarrassed you are.

“No, it’s okay, you don't have to explain,” the waiter said before excusing himself.

The moment the waiter was out of your line of vision, you turned your head to the boy who’s sucking in his lips, trying not to laugh.

“What the fuck was that?” You glared, your eyebrows scrunching. “What, you both just have a dirty mind,” Jungkook shrugged, the grin on his face making you shift in your chair.

Jungkook's aura was unlike anything you’d ever stumbled upon, and you hated it. It made you want to know more about him than you should, the way he carried himself and talked had you questioning why? He wasn’t so different from other boys you had met, besides the fact that he spoke his mind as if no one was around, not caring if he hurt your feelings or offended you. It was refreshing in some way, but it still made you want to pull your hair out.

“Alright… let’s change topics, Mr. Anti-Romantic,” you say, watching his smile widen.

“What?” You stared at him, trying to think what could possibly make him smile that much. You were sure your face would hurt if you possibly smiled that much.

“Nothing, I just find it extremely hot when you call me that, it turns me on,” Jungkook said, leaning forward.

Okay, that’s not exactly what you were imagining him saying. Your eyes widened momentarily, feeling your heartbeat rise. The smile not leaving his face had you feeling hot, as if the room temperature suddenly increased.

“Uh… so, project,” you blinked rapidly.

“Yeah, project,” Jungkook agreed, smile still on his face as he saw your cheeks flush with a reddish color.

“So, any ideas about what our project can be about?” You said, grabbing the hair tie around your wrist and using it to make a ponytail, taking the ribbons out before tying your hair.

Two small strands fell from your face, tempting Jungkook's fingers to reach out and tuck them behind your ear. He wanted to slap himself back to reality since he never in his life thought those thoughts, not even with Haneul, whom he dated for five months, setting a record. He still remembered the reason she gave him for breaking up. It was laughable.

“Jungkook, you don’t even look at me with love, and I know you said when we first met that it was only attraction, but I thought you would change over time the more we hung out,” Haneul whimpered, tears gathering around her eyes as Jungkook just stared at her, not knowing what to say. Because yes, he did tell her it was all attraction, and it’s still only attraction to this day for him.

“You don’t hold my hand or give me kisses, you don’t even give me flowers,” Haneul cried, her voice cracking with each word she said.

“I told you, I don’t do that stuff,” Jungkook said. He felt bad for her since he knew she deserved better, but he didn’t feel bad about not doing those things for her since he told her he wouldn’t and never would do them. And she agreed, so why was she crying about it now when she agreed to it five months ago?

“I know you did, but I thought you just… fuck, you haven’t even introduced me to your family,” a crack is heard from Jungkook's heart, but not for the girl in front of him crying her heart out, but for himself, because yeah, he had no family he could take a girl home to, since he had no home at all. He had a house, but it was as empty as he was.

“Haneul, I told you—“

“Yeah, that you will never do that! I get it, okay? I get it, but fuck, how can you not care? Do you not feel anything when it comes to me?” The girl wept more, which had Jungkook sighing.

“I like you, Haneul,” Jungkook replied. “I love you, Jungkook, can’t you tell…” she whispered, a choked sob leaving her lips as she looked up at the man who’s just standing in front of her like nothing.

“I’m sorry,” that's all Jungkook said… because what else could he say? It was either that or that he didn’t love her, but to not take it personally since he didn’t love anything?

So instead, he said the only thing he could muster without his voice cracking.

“Love,” Jungkook finally says, his statement catching you off guard, widening your eyes in surprise.

“Love? I thought you hated love,” you raise an eyebrow, perplexed by his sudden declaration.

“I do, but love is psychological. We can discuss how we, as humans, have the ability to choose whether we fall in love or not,” Jungkook articulates.

“That’s not how love works, Jungkook,” you retort, to which he responds with a disapproving nod. “It does, though,” Jungkook rebuts.

“It doesn’t. Love is not something we can choose and pick, it just happens,” you try to explain.

“You believe love just happens, but I disagree, respectfully,” Jungkook adds, causing you to tilt your head curiously, intrigued by his perspective. “I’ve held on for too long without being in love since I said I wouldn’t fall in love,” he concludes.

“That’s because you haven’t met anyone you actually want to try with… maybe you just haven’t met your soulmate,” you suggest, annoyance evident on Jungkook’s face the moment you mention the concept of soulmates.

“Soulmates don’t exist, ribbons,” Jungkook snickers.

“I beg to differ,” you cross your arms, adamant in your belief. “I don’t know what fantasy lovey-dovey world you live in, but soulmates are just made up,” Jungkook shrugs casually.

“Maybe you are right about the fact that you get to choose who you fall in love with since I know for a fact I would never fall in love with you,” you spitefully state.

Jungkook nods, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth that catches him off guard. Perhaps it was the fact that someone had just openly admitted they wouldn’t want to love him—reminding him of the kid he once was, desperately begging his parents to love him. But wasn’t this what he was trying to prove in the first place, that love was a choice? Then why did it hurt to hear you say those words out loud?

“Atta girl, finally got it huh,” Jungkook smirks, ignoring the pang of hurt in his chest. “Alright then, if we did do that for our project, let’s say we argued that love is a choice and it doesn’t happen. How do we prove that?” you question.

Silence fills the table as you both brainstorm ideas, trying to back up this argument.

“I got it,” you say, as if a light bulb just appeared on top of your head. Jungkook nods, encouraging you to continue.

“What if we spend a month with you doing absolutely everything to make me fall in love with you? And I mean do all that cliché, romantic shit I love that you hate so much. Since I know for a fact that I choose not to fall in love with you, we can discuss how, even if a person does everything right, you still get to choose who you love,” you explain carefully, ensuring he understands your proposal.

“It’s a good idea for the project; we could use ourselves to illustrate how we pick and choose who we love, like you said,” you try to convince him, giving him the benefit of the doubt after he convinced you of his beliefs. You knew you would never fall for him, even if he did everything you ever read in books and saw in movies.

“We can call it the Love Wager,” you finish, scanning his face as he contemplates the idea.

Jungkook’s mind races, unsure if he likes the idea or absolutely hates it. On one hand, it could earn him a good grade, given the strong rationale behind it, using yourselves as an experiment to support your argument. But on the other hand, the thought of spending a month doing everything he had vocally despised for the past five years gave him the heebie-jeebies.

“Alright then, the Love Wager operation starts,” Jungkook agrees instead, while you clap happily. “Oh my god yay, this might give me an A plus,” you celebrate, giggling as Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story; I just hate psychology,” you say, to which he nods in response.

“Well, we have a month together, so start explaining why you hate it so much,” Jungkook says nonchalantly, and before you could reply, the waiter hurriedly returns to your table, apologizing for the wait, mentioning the kitchen’s struggle with the influx of orders. But you keep your eyes on the boy in front of you, who looks at the waiter, reassuring him it’s okay.

The smell of fresh, hot pizza fills your nostrils as you finally snap out of your trance, looking down at the pizza the waiter is sliding onto the table, cautioning you both that it is extremely hot. The waiter continues to place all the food you ordered on the table before leaving with a bow.

“I’m starving, oh my god,” Jungkook moans as he picks up a slice of pizza and takes a bite, ignoring the steam.

“How is that not burning your tongue, oh my…” you begin to say, but you’re interrupted as you take a bite of your own slice, immediately regretting it as you burn your tongue. “Ah, ah, ha,” you drop the pizza onto your plate, sticking your tongue out and fanning your mouth with your hand. A small laugh escapes from Jungkook as you shoot him a snarky glare.

“He literally just told you it was hot, ribbons,” Jungkook says, grabbing a napkin from the container and reaching over to wipe some sauce off your lips and face. The fanning from your hand halts as you stare at his focused face, feeling yourself heat up again, but this time it’s not your mouth—it’s your cheeks.

“Why did you just do that?” you ask before you can stop yourself, as he sits back down properly. “I’m starting my boyfriend material journey, you know, since the project?” Jungkook says casually, taking another bite of pizza, watching you in surprise as you shockingly observe him not being fazed by the burning food in his mouth, chewing happily.

“Oh… we’re starting right now?” you gesture to the table between you both, indicating ‘right now’. “Yeah, we only have one month, let’s make it worth it,” he says, diving back into his food.

God, this month was definitely going to be a roller coaster.

💌taglist— @brune77e @cherryfragrancx @inlovewithharutoo @jcnggukie @vkjmjjk @seokjinspinkslipper @jayjahni @mxrecg @suciedad-divina @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aiiselle90210 @lovingkoalaface @httpjeonlicious @thekookiedealer @somehowukook @taiwan0618 @gwsjungkookie @chxrrybangtan @seokout @junecat18 @joonsanswer @ahgasegotarmy116recs @jkmylove97 @letjungcoook7 @skzthinker @whoa-jo @ziyaexe @kooloveys @sneezedonthebeat @parkinglot-nights @btsffreader92 @jjeonjjk7 (lmk if you wanna get taken off)

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volturiprincess · 2 months

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A late night conversation with Felix (Extended Version)

Felix Volturi x human mate reader

Summary: The conversation that happens between reader and Felix late at night when reader has a hard time falling asleep Warnings: None really, just some curse words and some mentions of smut but overall cute fluff A/N: I finally got to it and I got to say it was fun to write. its not really structured like a one-shot, its more like back and forth dialogue. Something different but I loved it. There will be a second A/N in the end. F/c: favorite color Word Count: 1060 🌹~~~~~~~~~~~🌹~~~~~~~~~~~~🌹~~~~~~~~~~~~🌹~~~~~~~~~~~~🌹

(Mighty fine man)

I have been awake for the past hour chatting away with Felix. I am supposed to be sleeping but sleep appears to not be on my side currently. And it does not help that Felix just lets me talk away and does not even bother to make me fall asleep– but that is one of the many reasons why I love him. Our current situation right now is him barely fitting on the twin size bed in my dorm, his poor legs are dangling off the bed while I'm snuggled on top of him with his arms wrapped around me. This is not the first night where we have been like this, Felix likes to visit me as frequently as he can at night when he is not away on some mission or has a night guard shift. Even if I am currently in college (one that is close to Volterra), we spend a lot of time together either studying, going on dates, sex in the most risky places in my campus, and my favorite thing; lying in bed with him late at night talking about the most random crap to exist like now

“ Felix? Do you know why a raven is like a writing desk?”

I heard him take an unnecessary breath before he responded

“My dear little rose, sometimes you really are a mystery to me, what goes through that pretty head of yours when iIm not around?

“Well first of all school, and that stupid essay that's due tomorrow but then my mind wanders to you and your jaw dropping arms that just fits so perfectly around me or how your large hand makes quiet the nice necklace”

The way he gasp made me think I really did catch him off guard

“And here I thought my little cara was a good girl and only focused on school”

“Well you thought wrong big guy, how am I supposed to think clearly when I have you as a lover? The way you know how to have me on my knees for you with just a look is just insane?”

Without even looking at him I knew he had that shark-like grin he gets when his ego is boosted which never fails to amuse me.

“You know the way you always compliment me with your modern words makes me fall for you more than you can imagine”

“Oh don't get soft on me yet big guy, you haven't even meet my delusional self when I lack sleep”

He chuckled slightly

“Oh cara, nothing could make me love you less”

“Hmmm, mind if I ask you something Fe?

“Anything amore”

“Do you have a switch?

Dead silence once again with his small sigh

“...No…..why?”

“Because I want to turn you on.”

The dead silence that came after made me think that I finally broke him but then the booming laugh that came out of him made me look up at him in shock. My eyebrows then furrowed in confusion when he calmed down after 5 minutes of laughter

“With that being said short stack you should get some rest, you need it”

“First of all, who are you calling short stack?”

“You obviously, look at you compared to me, you fit on this bed perfectly while im barely on it”

“Well it's not my fault you’re a whole ass unit of a man, look at you, I mean i'm not complaining, I love your size, but then again that's probably my size kink that clouds my mind when I see you”

In a teasing voice he replied

“Is that the only thing you think about when you see me, not my dashing smile, or my wonderful personality that can make you blush easily and make you weak in the knees”

“On the contrary I love those characteristics of yours, your more that I can handle half of the time”

He chuckles again and then says calmly

“Just close your eyes, i'll be here when you wake up in the morning”

“Like it's that easy Felix, you think I don't do that every night?’

“Well if you don't go to sleep then I will make you sleepy”

The dead silence after that was so thick that even Alec’s gift would be jealous.

“Is that a promise?”

He tilted my head slightly so I could look at him and he that look that look like he was going to eat me whole and that instantly sent an electric feeling of aroused to my core

“If you don't fall asleep soon then….no sex for a week”

The audacity of this man– well vampire has to deny me sex for a week is absurd, who does he think he is to say such a thing?

“You wouldn't dare”

“Oh but I will”

“You wouldn't last a day without being intimate with me”

“Oh but I managed to last centuries without having sex”

“Well I uh, now it's different Felix, found your mate now, you wouldn't last a day”

“So you want to bet on that then?”

“WHAT no, are you insane, i'm only saying you wouldn't last, me on the other hand, well that's a different story”

“Alright I won't deny you what you desire, but you need to sleep already tesoro, I don't want you to fall asleep in your classes”

“Well then you haven't met my english professor have you, he has this monotone voice that sounds like a combination of Kermit the frog and a flat line, I don't know whether to hold in a laugh or to fall asleep”

“Kermit the Frog? Who is that?”

“Oh right your like a million years old, he's a muppet and he's a frog obviously”

“A muppet? I never heard of that, is he like a puppet then?”

“In a way, you know what, tomorrow night we will have a movie night and I will show you the muppet movie, okay my love?”

“Alright, but now sleep or I will be serious about my threat”

“Ok ok, don't need to be dramatic now, look i'll close my eyes now”

Unfortunately the minute I closed my eyes, sleep over took me and I passed out in a minute in the coldness that naturally Felix releases and my f/c quilt draped over me that Felix got me for my birthday last year.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: The part where I said about having a professor that has a voice combination of Kermit and a flat line is true. Anyways, I hope you like it and my I will start working on a Jasper one-shot, I got inspiration from a song recently so something to look forward to.

#Felix is a whole ass unit of a man #felix volturi #the handsome giant of a man #felixvolturi #felix x reader #felix volturi x reader #the volturi #felix volturi imagine #the twilight saga #twilight renaissance #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagine #volturi

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princessbrunette · 6 months

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wrote this for the ppl who understand that if the cameron’s just paid attention to rafes mental health they wouldn’t be in all the shit they’re in now ……. he needs a hug and attention and love trust me i can fix him ok

cw: angry rafe, daddy issues, that’s it ig

rafe gets angry. real angry.

you know it’s happening again when you’re upstairs in his room, waiting for him to return from the conversation he’s having with his father down stairs. you hear raised voices, nothing out of the ordinary and then his fist pounding straight through a wall. you wasn’t sure what had gone on, but it had to be bad.

it used to frighten you, especially when you’d hear his footsteps thundering up the stairs to evade the situation. good on him for removing himself, you think now, but back then you might’ve stood in the corner of the room not moving, not even breathing as if to try and blend in with the wall completely. you thought alerting him of your existence might make him more mad, maybe direct it at you. you’d let him angrily pace around until he calmed, it was like clockwork. you got used to it, and the anxiety melted away into pity. no one got rafe like you did.

he slams the bedroom door behind him when he storms in and you jump a little at the way it shakes on its hinges. “ffffuck.” he growls, running his hands over his face as he changes his direction on his feet, as if he wanted to do a billion things at once. you see his hand is all fucked up, assumably from punching a hole in the wall.

“what happened, rafe?” you keep your voice calm, edging to the end of the bed closer to where he paces about.

“just— fucking— my dad is the most selfish fucking asshole i’ve ever met. all my hard work, all the shit i was breaking my back to do for him, down the drain i—” he runs a hand over his head, barking out an angry laugh.

“you hurt your hand?” you redirect the conversation. maybe it would help, you thought. he turns his hand over and barely glances over his knuckles, simply shaking it off like that would rid of the injury. he wouldn’t keep his eyes in one place, wouldn’t calm his breathing.

“that doesn’t — fuck— y’don’t get it okay? you don’t hear the way he talks to me i—” he stops where he is, fisting at his eyes with the balls of his hands, mouth gaping a little as he pants. “i don’t mean to freak out, i swear, i just get so mad and then i lose control and it’s — i’m really trying to not — i’m trying for you—” he can’t get his words out, and when he pulls his hands away his brow is creased and he has tears in his eyes. he looks younger like this, stripped back to his most vulnerable state. you instantly hop off the end of the bed, coming to him. he lets you hold his face.

“hey, it’s okay. rafe, it’s okay. i know.” you coo. even that gets him to soften a little bit. no one has ever treat him with patience or care. you’d seen the way the cameron’s treat him. no regard for his mental health, even when it’s so abundantly clear somethings not quite right. he didn’t need to be disciplined more or shut down, he needed to be loved. he needed you.

he looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time again, his breathing slowing and you pull him to the bed and sit him down, wedging yourself beside him. “s’not your fault, rafe. we can get you some help.”

his eyes drop to his hand, avoidant once more. “i don’t need… i don’t need help— i need my dad to stop—” he goes to raise his voice again but you shush him softly, rubbing circles across his broad back.

“rafe. it’s okay. c’mon. he’ll come around.”

he clenches his jaw, but nods anyway. yeah, he’ll come around.

#rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble

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blackautmedia · 6 months

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Watching someone play Twilight Princess after having gone through Tears of the Kingdom just made me remember why I enjoyed so much of it.

For all of my other gripes with the writing and character design issues, Twilight Princess does make this commentary on how it humanizes the Twili.

Midna has a moment before you enter the Twilight Realm where she stops to tell you about her home.

The game pretty consistently conditions you into thinking this is a dangerous place, the people referred to as descendants of interlopers.

But Midna also acts as a consistent and critical force toward Hyrule's governing structure (which is made more interesting by the fact that they don't tell you outright that Midna is a ruler herself until pretty late in the game) and toward the spirits.

A lot of the temples in Twilight Princess -- about half of them actually-- are designed with the attitude that you're not just exploring a temple but entering a space where people live and exist. The Forest Temple, Goron Mines, Snowpeak Temple, City in the Sky, and Palace of Twilight all follow that pattern.

It urges you to remember this isn't just a temple for you to clear but a place where real people who deserve safety and humanity live too. These aren't "interlopers" you need to be wary of.

This same scene also has Midna's apology, a bit of explanation to what was going on, and her resolve that the situation you're in requires helping and protecting both worlds.

Honestly--her setting her sights on prioritizing the well-being of her people and the dismissive way she treated you for it isn't even something I fault her for even if the game tries to frame it differently.

That's not to say the game is without its issues, particularly in a lot of the designs for its characters and the framing that comes with it, but I do really appreciate how the game goes out of its way to humanize a group of people Link has been conditioned to believe are less than in many ways.

The light spiirt didn't really give you a shining description, yet Midna urges you to see this not just a place where people live, but a beautiful place to live and experience.

Then when you actually go in, the very first thing Midna does is make a request related to her people and to request you help the people who live there.

Meanwhile, the same series has the way the Gerudo are largely seen as evil others by default and only granted sympathy when they're explicitly aligned with Hyrule. Even TP does that with Midna in how her dying move was to save Hyrule's people. I realize the Twili still run into a lot of savior narratives centering Link, but I still appreciate this little portion of the game.

I wish the series as a whole took that sort of attitude because that dehumanization is often just done straight, but there is the freedom to critique Hyrule, its leadership, and its governing structure that I feel isn't quite there in the series now and even Twilight Princess still doesn't quite scratch the itch.

I really wish Rauru got more of the Midna treatment in how he can openly share his thoughts and feelings, how he can be a voice of criticism but also be criticized himself narratively much like Midna did.

I don't think it's a coincidence that Midna is overwhelmingly considered the best companion Link has had by so many people.

#twilight princess #midna #twilight princess spoilers #tears of the kingdom #gerudo #king rauru

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xamaxenta · 3 months

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Xam, I must share MAS brain rot with you, because the fact I have it is entirely your fault.

So, for context - this found me on twitter (it's sfw!) https://x.com/doodledebil/status/1746607751776637380?s=20

It got me thinking of like, caged bird Marco. Captive to *someone*, who cares who for the sake of this, but all done up in finery and jewels, unable to escape, unable to die. Pissed all to hell about it.

Full elegance and beauty, dancing for whoever has him captive, playing along, but like certain lines he won't abide being crossed. So he'll stay in the cage and do the dance, but if someone else comes into the cage thinking they're going to get a piece of ass, the next morning there's blood on the cage and one Really Angry Bird perched over a corpse.

And it's very much a "message received" from whoever has him contained, so you know, we don't do that again. Polly doesn't want a cracker, but polly'll crack a bitch into pieces. (I can just see him with the darkest expression and those terrifying bright eyes glaring back.)

Maybe whoever collected him, collects Ace. But Ace belongs to Sabo. So this new little "bird" is very relaxed despite his situation and he and Marco chat a bit.

Marco: You don't seem to upset, yoi.

Ace: Hm? Nah, he'll be here soon.

M: He?

A: Sabo. I hope you're good with fire, he'll probably light this place up to get me out.

Fuck me i had an entire reply typed out and tumblr didnt fucking save it all it was rly long too 😭😭😭 why…

Ill try remember what i said but YEAH huge agree a beautiful immortal and FURIOUS phoenix Marco unable to leave unable to die and only able to serve is so delicious, he’s started to forget what life was like outside of the gilded cage hes displayed in and loathes his own existence and foolishness for being caught in the first place

And then Ace a new little bird- adorable- i love this foaming crazy at the mouth over him being a little pretty bird, but hes neither little or a bird but he certainly is so pretty with his dark soft hair and pretty grey eyes so stormy and defiant aughgg on my knewws JUST ONE CHANCE I KNOW IMMA BE THE FOOL WHO GOT INTO THAT CAGE AND GOT TURNED INTO BLOODY PASTE BCT DBSB AWOOGA anyway enough of that lol

Marco wants to tell him it doesnt matter what he does they cant be free

Sabo will come though, Ace doesnt seem to be particularly bothered that Marco is so cagey and unwilling to see that this wont be his prison for long, who can blame him though its been years centuries even and Marco expects to go mad within these bars long before he even gets a taste of freedom again

Ace however sits pretty and doesnt do as hes told :3c

#MAS #AUGH THAT DESIGN IS REALLY LOVELY

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verdantmeadows · 7 months

Text

One thing that bothers me is how people treat Hollow Knight characters somehow separated from in-game context or ideas. I'm going to be using the Pale King as an example, so this post is Pale King-centric. Like, people usually make out the Pale King to be a complete asshole (which I mean, I do not disagree), but portray him as acting asshole-ish, especially in ways that are very much not how he'd do so. Which is alright with comedy, but a lot of people have a very fundamental misunderstanding of a LOT of Hollow Knight characters. I totally think it's okay to make a character OOC and there is a lot to be argued on what counts as OOC. But going back to the Pale King, there's a few things I think people miss about his character pretty often.

He feels incredible shame over his mass infanticide from the moment he had to do it. Does this excuse it? Absolutely not. But people do not ever seem to grasp the context of which he does this, in which case there are more bugs who will die than the amount of children that would die. He created the vessels as an absolute last resort and felt he had no other choice than to do so. Again, this does not excuse the cruelty, but he was in a situation where (even if he can be argued to be at fault for causing it) bugs were going to and currently were dying, and he had to stop it.

The White Palace has a nursery, likely intended to be his and the Pale Lady's child. It uses the theme of the Knight's shade, but much happier sounding. It has a chair where the White Lady likely sat, as well as a crib. Yes, this would be her room, but it isn't incredibly hidden (unlike what the Path of Pain hides), but considering it was not greatly hidden, this means he likely did not feel it needed to be more hid than the rest of the White Palace and possibly that he wished or hoped he could have had normal children.

The Path of Pain exists solely to hide a single shared memory of the Pure Vessel and the Pale King. You can interpret it in many ways, but the two of them clearly are sharing a moment and look at each other. It is very easily inferred that the Pale King is what "tarnished" the Pure Vessel by instilling an idea and causing it to view the Pale King as a father. Considering he hid this memory so deeply within the White Palace, but it is there in the first place, it likely had great significance either as an event or emotionally. The moment is not exclusive to the Pure Vessel. It is the Pale King who looks at the Pure Vessel first. It's very likely he cared for it, even if he did not want to. This makes it even more cruel, because he had to have treated it (to the best of his ability) as hollow and empty, despite the fact that it wasn't, not entirely at least.

There is a LOT to be said about him and the Radiance that I don't think I could easily get into. I do think that he did things that were cruel to her and inevitably had a butterfly effect to causing the Infection. (I am trying to be neutral here, but I am definitely a Radiance sympathizer.) And, again, this doesn't excuse it, but contextually, it is down to his very nature as a Wyrm to draw bugs into his thrall and create societies/kingdoms. This nature of a Wyrm is repeatedly emphasized as if its to them as breathing is to humans. As a Wyrm, he must bring bugs into his thrall.

There are many, many other things I could mention. But as a whole, I think he is a really good example of how many people heavily mischaracterize or misunderstand Hollow Knight characters. I don't think it's inherently wrong to do so, but many people who are doing so are not doing it on purpose. There is a great level of nuance and much context to (many) Hollow Knight characters. The Pale King, like I explained, is incredibly nuanced and, in my opinion, is a very morally grey character. Many of those in Hollow Knight's world operate on moral ideologies or functions that do not fit ours and cannot fit ours, but I think people try to apply to them anyways. Not really sure what the point of this post was other than it bothers me.

#book of kells #hollow knight #i'd like to be clear that i do hate the pale king's ass but also he's one of my fave characters #because i think he's really well written and is incredibly interesting #to the four hollow knight fans who follow me. do i sound insane. feel free to tell me my opinions are shit (genuine)

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sokkastyles · 5 months

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To continue the discussion re: Katara and forgiveness I have a scalding hot take. It's important for me to disclaim that I don't fault Katara for wanting revenge on her mother's killer, nor have I ever believed she was in the wrong for feeling that way. However, sometimes I think Katara is expected to be an eternally forgiving Madonna figure because that was the image of herself she herself projected. From the very start of the show she's been rather self-righteous and never had doubts about her indestructible moral compass. Her line from Spirit Lady about never turning her back on the people who need her just gave me the impression that she has a mighty big savior complex. I know most people are endeared to her for those reasons but due to my own personal tastes it had the opposite effect for me (and I'm worried I'll get some flack for saying all this). I love characters who struggle with doing the Right Thing (tm) SUE ME. And now comes a situation where she finally FINALLY has a major moral quandary. She's manufactured this image of being perpetually virtuous. But now the illusion is shattered when there's discordance between what she wants to do versus what is the right (albeit, subjectively so) thing to do. You know, something every other human on earth has struggled with and that for a while she had distanced herself from. It was refreshing to see this major conflict between her and the people in her life. I just wanted to share my two cents (and friendly reminder I acknowledge that it's a scalding hot take) and I hope my criticism of Katara doesn't evoke too much anger from the ATLA masses *Sweats nervously*

To be honest, I think it's odd to say that Katara has always portrayed herself as perpetually virtuous when she's introduced to us in the very first episode yelling about having to wash Sokka's dirty socks. Right off the bat, we are told that she is a character who does NOT accept the role of the perfect, quiet, subservient, nurturing female. That's what I mean by a Madonna figure. It's a specific term used to describe misogynistic standards placed on women. Standards Katara speaks out against, loudly and openly, in the first few seconds she is introduced.

Katara's strong sense of morals is another matter. Katara has a defined sense of right and wrong and that means she holds herself to high standards, too, but that is a big part of her moral struggle. And that's been a part of her arc since early on, too, when she ran into conflict with the earthbenders or Jet in season one because they didn't live up to her moral standards and because she didn't know what the right thing to do was when the people she expected to be the heroes wouldn't step up in the way she expected, or turned out to actually be the villains. Katara has a certain way she expects the world to be and throughout the show that ideal is constantly fighting with the reality of the world and its expectations.

But all of this also occurs because of the pressure she feels to fit a certain standard, and to say that Katara imposed this on herself is kinda ignorant of the institutional nature of sexism, to be honest. Katara may think it's her job to take care of everyone, but she was eight years old when she began to internalize that, and it didn't happen in a vacuum, it happened due to the expectations that already existed for girls to take on a motherly role plus the trauma of her mother's death.

That's one of the things about sexism. It says that girls and women need to behave a certain way, then treats that prescribed behavior like it's a natural trait instead of a learned one and makes it the subject of mockery. Katara is often treated this way by the narrative, too. And then when she acts in a way that is counter to that prescribed behavior, it's portrayed as weird or out of line, even though that part of Katara has always been present throughout the story, and in fact one of the reasons she was so angry in the Southern Raiders was because the others kept acting like she was somehow not herself instead of recognizing where her hurt was coming from.

Sorry, I find this take to be luke-warm, at best.

#katara

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stealingyourbones · 2 years

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Hello, first I would like to greatly apologize for any spam of likes I have sent your way because my brain decided to obsess randomly with Dp x Dc crossovers for the past few days. I'm not even into Dc comics, and I only watch Danny Phantom when I randomly it exists and the fandom pulls me back into its clutches until I'm able to finally escape only to be pulled back in a few months later. I write this to you at 1:30 am with a bag of shittily made popcorn with my cat accompanying me because my mind has decided to fall in love with Danny being taken care of by the Bat family and it's mostly you're fault. I hope you're happy. I want to kiss you so bad you have no idea. I've come up with so many scenarios and have the balls to share them with you cause I really like the way you write and since I'm not a writer I have no idea what I'm doing but here I go:

Danny and Dani are basically travelling the world, Danny would call it running from the cops but that doesn't have as nice a ring to it. (Situation can be up to you, bad reaction from parents, was framed, anything for Danny and Dani on the run with Danny having protective older brother vibes)

They end up in Gotham for a few nights to rest easily and its snowing cause I said so and theyre starving at this point. Danny's like "We need to hide and need shelter" and Dani's like "Dude look over there at that creepy mansion :D" And they have no idea that its not only very much inhabited, but a bunch of rich people live there (And the Bat family but who cares about that part)

Danny is obviously on the fence cause 1. He doesn't have a good history with rich people so why their houses and 2. They dont know whats in there what if a bunch of weirdos are staying there but they decide they're cold and need a place to rest so they fly in and luckily land in the kitchen.

The lights are off and they're to focused on finding food to notice two figures standing in the middle of the kitchen just watching them.

Dani pulls out a box of the shittiest cereal you can think that shouldn't be counted as cereal all happy "Danny, they have my favorite cereal!" And poor Danny's horrified, "Have you even ever had cereal before?"

They start rambling and then someone turns on the light its Alfred he was in the middle of boiling midnight tea for him and Tim.

And there's just 2 GLOWING awkward teens FLOATING, one's holding Bruce's 'cereal' clearly not assesing the situation and the other has a horrified expression on their face, and looks like on the verge of passing out.

Tim is way to sleep deprived thinking they're hallucinations and sits down, also on the verge of passing out, while Alfred just keeps boiling his tea.

Danny is sweating trying to figure out how hes gonna get them out if this situation and Danis just, munching on dry crappy cereal.

Albert like the God he is just fucking opens the fridge, looks Dani in the eye and asks "Would you like some milk with that, my lady?" And thats all I got out of me FOR THAT SCENARIO.

The other is I fucking forgot I took 30 mins to write all this I forgot what else I had Im so sleep deprived OH FUCK I REMEMBER IT WAS ABOUT DRUGS

Ok so tw for drugs (weed):

Ok so Danny's a teen he's stupid right, knowing him in the show he'd be the kid to decline drugs but then take a hit when his crush says "i KnEw YoU wEreNt coOl" yknow? Delicious social pressure.

Well he's like pretty much adopted by the Wayne's at this point so he's just chilling on the couch about to light a joint and Jason being the noble man he is snatches it out of Danny's hand like "Nono, bad small child dont do drugs" half joking and smokes it instead.

Danny's now panicking, silently following Jason to make sure he's alright and not dead or reacting badly to it.

"Yeah why wouldn't I be fine?" And the high kicks in.

The thing is is that it was ghost weed. And Jason for once feels completely calm, he doesn't feel a single bit of the pit its silent.

He's crying and Danny's like "Omg are you ok???" Thinking he poisoned his family/lover/whatever the fuck they are.

And Jason's just "This is some real good shit" silently sobbing, not even thinking about where Danny got it or why its doing this he's just happy.

And you can turn this into extreme angst by making him codependent or a comedy by him making high jokes

Ok thats it again I'm so sorry I just really had to tell someone this

Homie you, me, behind the Bat Burger; We shall marry at dawn. Man, it makes me so happy that you enjoy the stuff I write that much I’m really proud that I could bring you that much joy! Be sure to give your kitty some pets for me :).

Oh also, “not a writer”?! You spin a web of lies. This is incredible!! Sure it’s rambly, but that’s because you’re writing in a way that’s unsure of yourself. (It’s also very much so how I write so I feel you homie.) I still feel like my writing is equivalent to a middle schooler's but I do my best to shake that off. I don’t write fics because I’m bad at dialogue, I’m workin on it though! You simply just have to try and believe in yourself. You’ll reread it later and go, “Damn, did I just write that?!” And feel proud of what you accomplished. You absolutely have unique and brilliant ideas so take a shot at writing some stuff! I’m sure you’ll do great! :D

Also bro your: "what was I talking about? oH YEAH DRUGS!" was so unexpected. it made me laugh so hard so thank you for that :)

———

Danny and Dani are fucking floored that this stoic-ass old British man just rolled with seeing the two. Dani's eyes light up as she accepts the milk from the British guy. Snatching the fancy glass milk container, she haphazardly pours the milk into her bowl causing bits of cereal to ricochet the milk out of the bowl and flying absolutely everywhere.

Tim just stands still and stares at the two very much so Not Human entities that are currently in his house. The tired vigilante rummages around in his pocket for his phone and takes a quick photo of the scene in front of him.

Tim double takes glancing between the kitchen and his phone. At first he assumed they were hallucinations because no figures were present in the photograph… the floating bowl of cereal and spoon says otherwise.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc comics #writing prompts #bones replies #anon #genuinely dude your writing is fascinating! sorry it took me so long to get to your ask because this is INCREDIBLE

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yourneighborhoodporg · 5 months

Text

The Guardian

Chapter 8: Blackened Water (Part 1)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: graphic descriptions of migraines, mention of sleeplessness/loss of appetite, self-sacrifice (if ya squint), angst, fluff, banter, descriptions of violence.

Summary: It had been two weeks since you arrived on Coruscant when The Chosen One invited you to join him in an impromptu Starfighter piloting session. After reminiscing about the weeks prior, you, Anakin, Ahsoka, and R2-D2 decide to transform the lesson into a game. However, you are quick to learn that pushing this ship to its limit was sure to have unintended complications.

Song Inspo: Migraine — Twenty One Pilots

Words: 6k

A/n: Looks like things are about to get complicated... please comment/pm if you'd like to be on the Taglist! And lmk your thoughts on this chapter :)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

So much like the moon, we show the world only one and veil our many faces, even from the sun — Jason Versey

“It’s not that I don’t want to learn how to pilot a Starfighter, I’m just not sure if I want to learn from you.”

You spoke forcefully into the comlink headset, its rounded, copper microphone hovering inches from quarrelsome lips. You were currently situated in a Republic Starfighter’s Co-Pilot Forward Gunner’s cockpit, and its rushing drone was creating a deafening habitat that drove you to raise your voice had you any hope of communicating with Anakin, Ahsoka, or Anakin’s droid companion R2-D2 at any point during this flight. Still, the boundless rush failed to block you from continuing your exploration of the fighter’s gunnery controls, spelled out by the glaring interactive screen nestled in the jutted crook to your right.

“I’ll have you know that I’m the best pilot the Jedi have, if not, the Galaxy,” Anakin defended, his mechanically muffled voice crackling into your earpiece while he directed the fighter’s acceleration around Coruscant’s curvature.

You flexed a doubtful brow at his cockiness, despite his inability to see you from the main pilot’s cockpit stationed a meter ahead, just before the bird’s nose.

“Weren’t you the one who crash-landed that shuttle on Hoth in the first place?” You challenged.

“They’ve got you there,” Ahsoka piped up, the young voice spluttering through your headset from her perch in the tail gunner’s pit directly behind.

“That wasn’t my fault,” he huffed.

You shook your head at the exchange, levity conquering facial muscles that usually endured some semblance of placidity as you carried on with your analysis of the ship’s offensive capabilities.

In the seconds that followed, a brief silence unfolded across the fighter’s private comms channel, though that didn’t deter you from continuing to tap away at the informative screen just below your fingertips. Needless to say, despite focusing your mind on canons and proton torpedo launcher specifications, the prolonged lull in conversation streamlined your thoughts into deeper ruminations as your evolving muscle memory assumed control.

It had been nearly two weeks since your arrival on Coruscant, and you were finding that you had a knack for acclimating quickly to the drastically contrasting environment. The warmer weather, busier urban environment, and abundance of Jedi-specific resources were quite the staggering changes from your meager, solitary existence among boundless blizzards and bloodthirsty beasts.

So, it didn’t take much convincing to welcome the transition with open arms.

You were still settling in, so, rationally, you recognized that you weren’t as versed in the Jedi Temple’s daily happenings as its more veteran residents. However, from the behavior you observed alone, you could still tell that time dragged far more gradually than the status quo, even when compared to the beginning few days of your arrival.

At first, you noticed that meetings among the Jedi Council had become less frequent. There was little to discuss while they awaited news from Temple technicians who, sector-by-sector, continued their analysis of each minutia of the Jedi’s expansive communications array. And when they did convene, it was usually due to handfuls of temporarily visiting clones, dispatched from their units to deliver on-the-ground intelligence directly to assigned generals who would then liaise any necessary information to the Council for further instructions.

Generals, you sighed inwardly. The taste of that word being used to describe Jedi was still akin to the tangy expiration of blue milk. A sign of the times, you supposed. So, again, you pushed that thought away.

You continued your recollection, even harking back to that strange, incongruous feeling that overcame your senses when you spotted your first set of clones. Rationally, you knew what to expect. Beings that looked exactly like each other in most, if not every conceivable way. Though, despite that assumption, you’d found that even in the briefest of interactions, these clones seemed to be some of the most diverse and spirited individuals you’d ever met.

Sure, you hadn’t chanced upon that many beings in your lifetime. But of the few troopers you did encounter, they certainly stood in stark contrast against that backdrop of Coruscanti civilians and Jedi from your recent past.

They were dedicated to their craft and their generals, drove into the depths of battle without the protection of the Force, and supported each other like true brothers in arms.

And with all your being, you commended that.

Maybe that’s why you were looking forward to meeting more of their comrades and discovering how their relationship with the Jedi Order came to be. You could only learn so much from those few, fleeting conversations in a passing walkway. Especially because their presence was always so short-lived.

Once a new directive was assigned by the Council, the visiting batches were soon whisked away, once again into the strange, galaxy-wide relay race in the name of secure communications while the Council melted back into their brief slumber. You supposed it was the natural consequence of the Republic Army’s temporary reliance on snail mail, but it was all still so strange nonetheless.

You had to admit, though, that things had begun to pick up in the last week. You remembered hearing passively from a congregation of Masters moving through a large hall one afternoon, that a smattering of Jedi had been sent out alongside the most recent collection of clone drop-ins. Some of those named individuals returned after a few days, having spotted them in the Archives, a refractory, or even conversing with Master Windu.

But the ones you didn’t see again?

You could only assume that they were continuing to traverse the Galaxy on some unknown mission in the name of peace.

But word of mouth was not your only source of information regarding the curbed release of Jedi back to the Front. You had, at times, happened to see it for yourself. Like just the other day, when passing by one of the Temple’s main hangars on the way to another sparring session with Anakin. Just by chance, out of the corner of your eye, you’d caught a pair of Jedi preparing to depart alone. There was no clone in sight by their powered-up Nu-class attack shuttle, red and white markings trailing its spine as it gaily awaited the two passengers conversing lowly at the bottom of the boarding ramp. You remembered it was a duo of black-robbed, green-tinted Mirialans— Master and Padawan, their relative ages suggested. Off to another untold destination, but, this time, without a crew of troopers.

You recalled thinking at that moment: maybe the Council has grown more agreeable with the concept of dispatching Jedi alone to temporary assignments?

Then again, their sudden departure might have had more to do with the need to immediately transmit vital information to a distant battalion than anything else.

Either way, it was all a guess. You had learned fairly quickly in your time at the Temple that The Council considered most wartime information as need-to-know. Even Master Windu, in the few times you’d met with him, was reticent to share any news with you that didn’t directly concern your being.

At any rate, those instances of strategic departures were rare, leaving many Jedi to find a way to occupy themselves during this involuntary downtime.

You, personally, were utilizing this time the best way you could— as an opportunity to address the persistent migraines that’d been plaguing you for the past week and a half.

Even in the cockpit of a Starfighter, thousands of kilometers away from Coruscant’s golden inscriptions, you could still recall it all so perfectly.

They would start off imperceptibly stunted, pecking away at your senses so gently that you’d barely notice their presence until the draining aches inflamed into pounding thumps deep at the core of your brainstem.

The worst part was that you never knew when they were going to strike next. It was just all so…sporadic.

They’d crawl into your sinuses during early afternoon drills, nibbling at your attention mere minutes into attempting a particularly complicated, defensive acrobatic which would accordingly backfire from the ordeal’s impetuosity. Other times, it was in the evening, usually erupting in your skull halfway through supper, and, often, smack dab in the middle of a sentence aimed at one of the three Jedi who’d whisked you away from Hoth weeks ago.

Naturally, regardless of your hope to learn more about The Chosen One, his former Master, and Padawan during these times, this strange affliction’s consequences would routinely cut such moments short. The second that distinctive, rising thunder would rumble, you were pressed to conjure up some excuse to retire early, leaving most of your plain meal uneaten from the unexpected loss of appetite in each premature retreat to your quarters.

In addition to coping with the persistently tugging weights chained to the back of your eyeballs, you were, to the best of your ability, trying to keep its effects as discreet as possible. You’d keep your signature muted and expression neutral as the warning signs of an impending strike encroached on your senses, removing yourself from whichever training, social, or study activity may have fanned its flames.

But despite it all, these considerations were not enough to deter the occasional wisp of care that would flutter from Ahsoka’s brows following your early conclusion of a joint study session. Or the flare of worry that would spurt behind Anakin’s fiery eyes after you ended a spar prematurely, hand cradling your forehead the moment you’d retreated from his line of vision.

Your efforts to obscure any reflection of pain especially did little to dissuade the concern that rippled across Obi-Wan’s features last night, when in the middle of a teasing escapade with Anakin, your brilliant grin faltered into a thin, immutable line as a sudden spear to the base of your skull compelled you to briskly break off from the group before the impartial expression you strained to support wavered.

Discerningly, you understood that despite your efforts, the three of them knew something was transpiring. Still, you were confident enough that your exercise in representing these headaches as sudden fatigue would present these moments as too bland to warrant serious discussion.

You wanted, no, needed to keep any sense of severity to a minimum. You’d spent the last decade alone on a lethal, ice planet, your entire life being the sum experience of staring down danger’s sharpest teeth and shaving them blunt by yourself. All in all, you’d certainly dealt with threats far greater than the danger of a persistent set of migraines, you joked inwardly. So you knew that, with time, you’d figure out how to trim away this roadblock too.

And without involving The Chosen One.

You thought back to your first working theory of the issue, that your body was still adapting to its changed environment. Even though you felt energized by this new planet’s radiant sunlight, the heat could have still affected you more than you first realized. But even with this, you understood that only time would tell.

In the interim, you found it unnecessary to worry your Jedi acquaintances. They had no need for knowledge of your sleepless nights, fueled by mushrooming, stings bursting behind your forehead. Shattering you awake in a puddle of strenuous sweat and breathless utterances that disheveled your sheets.

“Just go away already,” you huffed one early morning.

You were The Guardian after all. Tasked with protecting The Chosen One. Roping in others to aid you in your own, comparably minuscule toils would have stood in quiet opposition to your title’s purpose.

Yes. You were convinced. You’d find a solution some other way.

Anyways, addressing your mind’s inner facets was only a small strand in the meadow of free time that had laid at your fingertips. You also took an appreciable advantage of the interim to explore your new home— The Jedi Temple.

You recalled finding it somewhat overwhelming, the Temple’s colossal model, constructed piece-by-piece over thousands of years with the building blocks of Jedi evolution and spirituality. But, in spite of its sweeping presence, you felt uninhibited to tour each nook and cranny like the labyrinth it was.

You’d encountered many Jedi this way, all in various training dojos, halls, gardens, and other, more secluded, areas as they too took advantage of the passing days to train, meditate, or study. It was actually how you, twice, inadvertently ran into Anakin and Ahsoka, during these cursory, investigative stints. Once, while they were in the midst of a spar, and the other, amid one of Anakin’s on-the-fly lessons about the reality of the battlefield.

Sitting here in this rumbling, Starfighter’s primary gunner cockpit, you had to admit that you were really delighted when you saw them like this. Working as Master and Padawan in their own, unique way. It proved to you that Anakin was taking his Mastership more seriously.

You remembered how he’d expressed to you his hesitancy with being assigned a Padawan last week as the two of you strolled down one of the Temple’s many walkways in search of an empty training room. Though you were not surprised, as it was something that you already learned from Obi-Wan, who had complained about this very issue to you over one of your evening meals. A plate of hawk-bat eggs, if you recalled correctly. He cited to you the young Jedi’s reluctance to attend several of Ahsoka’s training remote sessions, which, according to Master Kenobi, was an important, reoccurring exercise prescribed to all Padawans.

Separately, you’d happened to already know how the Jedi Order historically drove responsibility into its members. It was not just via off-world missions or Knighthood trials, but through the combined experience of guiding the young with one’s own expertise. Qui-Gon often mentioned how his mentorship years morphed him into the wise and capable man you’d known him to be. And you didn’t believe either that Anakin was immune to such windows into maturity.

So, at that moment, with the protesting, chestnut-haired Jedi strolling inches from your side, you were sure to remind the irresolute man that they wouldn’t have given him that duty had they not believed him to be ready.

“Now you’re starting to sound like Obi-Wan.” He huffed, crossing his arms as you both continued your brisk saunter. “I’m just not meant to have a Padawan!”

You eyed the insistent Jedi soberly. “Anakin, I’ll tell you one thing. For someone who I know hopes to grow as a Jedi, you certainly seem to tie your own feet together when the perfect opportunities to do so present themselves.”

That conversation must’ve knocked a bolt loose in that rigid mind of his, you supposed, after seeing with your own eyes his efforts to do more as her Master in the days that followed.

And that included today. In this bulky, ARC-170 Starfighter. The inspiration for Anakin’s decision to kill two buzzbirds with one stone.

After admitting to your limited, hands-on piloting experience over that same dinner you’d ended early the night before, Anakin posed the brilliant idea of teaching you himself. A proposition you’d have had better luck turning down had he not already been planning to take Ahsoka out into the exosphere to deliver his own set of ad-hoc tutorials.

If you could even call it that.

According to him, all he had to do was reserve a different Starfighter class and the three of you would be good to go. So, you accepted, hoping all the way up until you entered the secondary cockpit that maybe Anakin had a preplanned lesson that wouldn’t end in infamy.

That was, of course, until the actual flying started.

Refocusing your attention to continue inspecting the gunner controls to your right, you soon found greater ease in probing the laser canons’ maneuverability with time. In fact, you were able to quite quickly understand this new model’s updated variations, and how those tied into its modernized combative functions. This was most transparent earlier at the flight’s start, when, after a short brief from Anakin, you were comfortable enough to trigger the fighter’s new S-foil wing system, a state-of-the-art feature which supposedly allowed for greater heat dispersion between the ship’s engines and canons in high-speed situations.

Yes, you lacked the heuristic flying and gunner skills, but your studies on Hoth were not for naught. You had long ago memorized the user-based functionalities of older starships. Its parts, controls, functions, and capabilities, employing your own shelter as a dissectible specimen to fuel your understanding. So, while you didn’t have Anakin’s piloting experience or dexterity, you were still rather capable of exercising that garnered knowledge to pick up parallel operations fairly quickly.

It was also why, in reaching hour two of Anakin’s lesson, his sporadic, step-by-step sputterings of how and when he engaged elementary control functions did little to quench your parched alacrity.

So, you broke the silence.

“So…when are the gunners gonna become pilots?” You asked, both on your and Ahsoka’s behalf.

“You think you’re ready to take the reins?” Anakin raised, a hint of playfulness echoing behind the occasional pop of the radioed voice in your ear.

You smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

Just as you finished, a small, yellow window blinked open at the top of your screen. You briskly scanned it, recognizing the primary controls transfer confirmation request before gingerly tapping accept.

In half a second, the flight computer once shrouded in darkness directly in front of you flickered to life. It began by displaying various levels of system readiness in navy blue text on the left. Shield artillery, forward and aft stability, among others. On the opposite side shone the fighter’s coordinate plane, a graphed image depicting the ship’s location based on immediate surroundings that were divided by orange, sectional rings.

They all buzzed to life in conjunction with a control panel of glowing, kaleidoscopic buttons, switches, and several familiar levers, their color-coded rings now steadily blinking a range of unnatural reds, blues, and yellows by your fingertips.

“Let’s see what you got,” Anakin crackled through.

You hummed in concentration while wrapping a set of fingers around the navigation lever, feeling its give as you put your other hand to work adjusting the bird’s speed parameters on the animated control panel. Once the specifications were fixed, you lifted your head back toward the speckled darkness of space, gently nudging the lever forward to dip the fighter.

And you sensed the change immediately.

The modest pressure of your back suddenly tugging to the rear support infused your fingertips with dawning excitement. You pulled the lever toward you with greater confidence now in the directional shift, sensing the variation in the fighter’s ascent while absorbing your first taste of the craft’s feel, as well as its movement’s interaction with the Force.

Before long, your certainty swelled further, stirring you to twist the rapidly scaling fighter into a backward loop while listening to the metal grunt merrily around you.

Despite swiftly finishing that circle, you were reticent to give the bird a moment to rest. Instead, you directed the Starfighter to climb once more, adjusting the panel controls for a hammerhead descent. Even now, in this rapid ascent, you body still prickled at the fighter’s consistency with the imputed speed adjustments as you neared the desired pivot point.

Then, you felt it.

That minute weightlessness that commanded you to yank the navigational lever to the right, bringing the ship into another sharp, controlled dive for a few seconds before leveling it off into a normal flight pattern.

“Not bad,” Anakin began. “But those little tricks aren’t gonna do much good on the battlefield.”

“It’s not like we have any battle droids for target practice,” Ahsoka commented. “Or anything to train in defending against.”

She had a point, you considered inwardly.

But if your time on a deserted planet taught you anything, it was that even the most resourceless locales could be molded into an advantage.

“And isn’t this a clone ship?” She continued.

You glanced around at your surroundings beyond the compact cockpit as their conversation reigned unabated, hoping to catch sight of anything that could be put to use as you stuck to the fighter’s default flight path programmed to circulate Coruscant’s outer edge.

“Yeah,” Anakin irritatedly drew. “But it was the only model that could fit three beings. It’s similar enough to the Delta-7s anyways.”

A sudden, protesting flurry of high-pitched, sundry beeps sloped in pitch from your headset, but still failed to draw your preoccupied glare away from its scan of the region.

Though it did precipitate a sigh in the blue-eyed Jedi

“Sorry, Artoo. Three beings, and a droid.”

Then, you spotted it.

A few hundred kilometers to your right floated a scattered array of tiny meteors, traveling in an undefined shape at an imperceptible speed. Far enough away from Coruscant to avoid accidental atmospheric entry, and small enough to avoid causing any real damage to a fighter with as heavy shielding as this one.

“I may have a solution to that,” you voiced while veering the Starfighter’s nose toward the crumbly assemblage of hickory brown space rocks.

“Let’s hear it!” Ahsoka eagerly exclaimed, having had little else to do but listen to Anakin’s instructions in the rear gunner pod for the last few hours.

“You see that up ahead?” You asked, nodding to the nonspecific structure before remembering that your companions couldn’t see you.

“The meteors?” Anakin questioned.

You cognitively hummed, the formation expanding as the fighter quickly neared its destination.

“Nope,” you popped. “That, is an enemy starship.” You asserted. “Anakin, how’s your object manipulation?”

He scoffed. “Do you even need to ask?”

“Even in space?” You lightly teased, bringing the bird in to perpetually circumnavigate the ruble consortium.

“Especially in space.”

Somehow, you could almost taste his grin through your rumbling headset.

“I’m holding you to that,” you quipped, a small smile slipping by your lips.

Without skipping a beat, you leaned your head back to address Ahsoka. “Master Skywalker here is gonna be our intrepid, enemy gunner.”

You gesticulated toward the backdrop. “These rocks are his ammo. I’ll be the primary pilot, and, Ahsoka, you’re my gunner. Oh! And Artoo?”

You glanced up at the droid’s blue and white head, peeking out from his secured cavity in the center of a divider wall that separated you and Ahsoka.

“Do try to keep Anakin from accidentally destroying our way home.”

The droid buzzed in a rising chime of inspirited affirmation as his head danced into a spin.

“Don’t worry, Artoo,” Ahsoka reassured while the air of your cabin flooded with the fizzing whir of her dorsal canon elevating. “Silvey and I will make sure you don’t have much work to do.”

“It seems I must teach you a lesson in speaking too soon, my young Padawan,” Anakin sassed.

“Alright,” you interjected, keeping an eye on the meteor cluster to your left. “The battle starts now.”

“Let’s have it.”

Just as those final words fluttered from your dried lips, a fluctuation in the hovering mass caught your eye. You centered your vision, catching a knot of nearly twenty rocks assembling into a spearhead formation near the crowd’s outer rim. That was, before, without notice, those jagged rocks sharply launched toward the fighter’s closest flank.

“Hold on!” You called out instinctively before bringing the bird down into a sudden plunge.

The whizzing meteor configuration rushed after the Starfighter’s tail, giving Ahsoka the prime latitude to start shooting down the shard-like projectiles with the zapping hiss of her maneuverable canon.

While Anakin’s Padawan sustained her calculated assault on the cluster’s center bludgeoners, you, however, were beginning to sense a hairsplitting breakaway in their diving formation. Intending to investigate this further, you glanced at the coordinate plane to the right of your screen. There, you soon spotted two chaotic bundles of flashing red dots, rapidly approaching either wing at a speed that doubled their blinking rate.

This discovery was, naturally, followed by the occasional, yet abruptly swelling, clangs of eluding debris that bounced off the bird’s aft. Thankfully, Artoo was at the ready, already working to readjust the deflector shields to the rear as he emitted an arrangement of disapproving, bellowed beeps.

“I’m doing my best, Artoo!” Ahsoka droned.

You, on the other hand, were keeping careful attention on those threatening, crimson flecks. So much so, that your grip on the throttle mindlessly tightened as they relentlessly inched and inched ever so closer.

But you waited, relaying their distance internally from the screen’s navigation display as you formulated a plan on the fly.

100 meters…50 meters…15 meters.

This should work.

You wrenched the lever to the right, hard, bringing the fighter into a sudden tilt. The wings parked at 12 and 6 o’clock as the rocks once speedily approaching each end blindly whizzed over your head and by the ship’s belly.

You paused here for only a moment, permitting the last pebble to zoom past before righting the fighter.

Now, having brought the environment back into a gradual equilibrium, you’d believed the fore was secure enough for you to address the swelling pummeling you were receiving from behind. So you stretched your neck back, expecting to momentarily check in with Ahsoka’s progress.

But in that ever so brief twist away from the viewport, you just as suddenly sensed some whirlwind convergence in the path of the bird’s nose.

Having spun around, eyes searching, you were soon able to abruptly spy those same, once-dodged clusters presently returning with newfound vengeance.

“Anakin…” you chided, taking the fighter into another evading dip. “Last time I checked, laser bolts can’t redirect themselves.”

“These are…special laser bolts,” The Chosen One brightly justified as his dual-speared formations endured an unforgiving swoop and approach.

You huffed, once more returning to the panel to readjust the speed parameters before taking the ship up again in hopes of shaking these ‘Silvey-seeking lasers.’

The next twenty or so minutes of this little, spontaneous exercise protracted more of the same. Ahsoka primarily handled all the aft attacks. And any time a knot of projectiles came whistling toward the fighter’s flanks or fore, you retained a calculated quickness in twisting, looping, or diving away to elude the enemy.

You did this especially well when, at some point, Anakin guided his mineral minions into another full-frontal attack. With minimal latency, you rolled the ship into a small curve, swiftly pointing its tail at the hastily advancing masses so that Ahsoka could take over, all in an effort to tighten these battle-necessary skills.

It was all fun and games, of course, until Artoo erupted into a fit of jangling chirps, which you altogether roughly interpreted as a plea to pause.

It was in those following moments that, you too, started to notice the crater-like burrows that speckled the ship’s hull and nose, its cherry red, warpaint bands unreasonably chipped, and its canon arms dented.

And you could only imagine what the aft looked like.

It was clear that the three of you had certainly given this Starfighter a thorough beating.

“Sorry buddy,” you replied while gradually levying the ship to a standstill.

You assumed Anakin had also received the memo as the previously merciless bombardment of space debris clusters stalled like sleeping statues around you, blanketing back into the natural confines of the surrounding white-speckled vacuum.

“Guess the drill got away from us,” you continued, bringing up the command controls transfer menu on your screen before programming it to relay all functions to the main cockpit.

You endured in the same breath, powering down the canon engines with a deflated huff. “If you need any help with the repairs, my hands are yours.”

No matter his noticeable frustrations, the astromech must have still appreciated the offer as your headset swiftly resounded with spirited whistles of gratitude.

“Okay,” Anakin uttered, the secondary pilot screen, panel, and levers before you dimming back into the blackness of your cabin with a depleted drone as he accepted the changeover. “One more thing I want to try before we rotate positions.”

Your attentiveness toward Skywalker’s words was short-lived, however, as an unexpected, shrill blare resounded throughout your suffocating compartment.

“Um,” Ahsoka emitted.

Instinctively, you glanced at the single active interface to your right, only to register a flashing red warning plastered above the primary gunner controls. Then, just seconds into your efforts to detect the source, a female voice spilled into the exposed space, parroting the same admonition flashing before your eyes from interior speakers.

“Uh, Anakin?” You articulated, staring at the now, decidedly visible safety warning. “Why are you suppressing the inertial dampeners?”

“I want to test the terminal rotational velocity of this new model before it’s dispatched to my battalion,” he nonchalantly explained.

You peeked down at his cockpit, registering the ever-shifting essence of the back of his head as he seemingly prepped the ship for whatever stunt was next on the agenda.

“Isn’t that what the piloting screen’s for?” Ahsoka challenged. “To give you those numbers?”

“Yes,” he muttered, annoyed. “But I can’t get a good feel for its real maneuverability with the dampeners at max.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna like this,” you breathed while the batting crimson glow of the ship’s safety system dragged on its incessant screech.

“Don’t worry,” Anakin cheered seconds before a thrumming, mechanical purr sounded from either side of the ship. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Your head swiveled toward the hums, enabling you to notice the wings’ X formation slowly collapse into a thicker, horizontal line with a metallic snap.

“I think the warning lady disagrees with you,” Ahsoka deadpanned while Artoo chirped in with jumbled blips of agreement.

You exhaled. “I’m gonna have to jump in on this bandwagon, too, Anakin.”

You reflexively gesticulated to your right.

“Closing the wings will burn us up.”

“Only if the canon engines are on, which you turned off,” he reminded. “Besides, having them open will drag our rotational speed.”

Realizing that his mind was made up, you relented, leaning back into your cushioned backrest as you folded your arms in a mix of apprehension and quiet protest.

Logically, you knew Anakin was a talented pilot. But in the short time you’d known him, he always seemed to be one switch away from a reckless decision that couldn’t be rescinded. You could only rely on the Force to warn you otherwise but, for now, you took comfort instead in mumbling one reoccurring thought aloud.

“I’m gonna regret this.”

“Okay, prepare yourselves,” the blue-eyed Jedi declared as you felt the uniform pull of a Starfighter in motion.

Anakin was not one to dally, you knew that too. But you were also not quite expecting the speed or suddenness with which he instantly accelerated the craft.

Mere meters into the flight, the chestnut-haired Jedi launched the fighter with the momentum of a passionate lightning bolt, driving your entire being to squash back as the sudden force partially flattened your skin and burrowed in between chapped lips and suddenly exposed gums. Your hands shot impulsively out to either side of the cramped cockpit, flattened palms shoving against both engine-warmed walls for some semblance of balance.

But it was no use. The thrill-seeking man continued to drive the bird to newly discovered, exponential speeds.

Mind briefly flickering, you recalled your other Jedi companion while trying to catch your breath. You could only imagine what poor Ahsoka was experiencing on the opposite side of the craft as she was thrust forward by the inverse velocity.

But evidently, none of these worries had crossed Anakin’s mind. Instead, you imagined his eyes’ were thinly focused on the speedometer as he sensed the pulverizing oppressions around him.

That was, you guessed, until he found a tempo that finally suited his rotational needs because just as promptly as he accelerated, the adrenaline-addicted man sharply jerked the Starfighter mid-race into a tight, unyielding roll.

The only word you could use to describe the sensation, was uncanny.

There was something about the way it dragged you from your awareness. The feeling of being simultaneously smashed together and ripped apart across every point of your body not only blurred your vision, but it seemed to draw you far enough away from your senses that you could barely feel the comforting touch of the Force. It was as if it flowed inches from your fingernails, but not close enough to wet them.

Still there, but just out of reach.

Instead, your entire experience centered on the raw rush of a repressive speed’s disconnected passions as the fighter’s rotations puckered.

Then, you felt a familiar twinge rap at your forehead’s center.

You tried to thrust it away, refocusing your attention on the feel of the increasingly searing metal under outstretched fingertips to ground yourself. But even as you did so, a new wave of clamoring throbs smacked you upside the head, blasting you into a new realm of haziness.

You knew the drill. An unpleasant, yet manageable headache like this one was sure to last a long while. The rest of the morning, perhaps, if recent history had any say. But they hadn’t prevented you from addressing more pressing matters. Like those involved with gunning a Starfighter.

Or surviving one of Anakin’s test flights.

At least, not up until this point.

By some means, the keen pulse that was now branching into your sinuses and across the bridge of your nose suddenly developed a more piercing vigor. Each jab increasingly resembled the perforations of a bayonet, as if some invisible force was repeatedly impaling your skull like a pirate digging for lost treasures. Time became relative while your entire dome felt like a massive, gaping wound, unlatched to a world of acidic fingernails that hungrily tunneled through the gash.

You retracted both arms from the cockpit’s flanks, allowing your body to writhe to the rhythms of spinning g-forces as you slammed each flattened palm against the sides of your head. While the agony deepened at a rate comparable to the twisting ship’s bolt, you pressed down on your sinuses, harshly, charged with the secret desire to squeeze out the pain with your brain marching inches behind if need be.

Just as rapidly, you could tell that you were reaching a breaking point in your silent fortitude. With the caliber at which this was worsening, you knew that, very soon, it was going to be too strenuous to keep your involuntary, disturbed vocalizations to a minimum. You couldn’t take it. It was too much.

You just needed it to stop.

You needed everything to stop.

“Stop…” you croaked weakly.

But it was too soft for the headset to register as the fighter continued its twirling trek with no acknowledgment from any passengers.

So you tried again, with just a tad more energy.

“Please, stop…”

Your depleted voice was washed away by the dogged bawl of the earsplitting siren which kept drenching your vision in cycles of cerise.

Another shattering knife ran through your skull with a burning fire that combatted that of the ship’s engines as it steadily milked your eyes for brimming tears.

You gasped.

“Anakin, stop!”

The Starfighter abruptly decelerated, steadily relaxing into a leveled state as the deadening drone of easing engines devolved into a bass grunt.

You welcomed the instantaneous airlessness that invaded your bones and softened your skin as the cabin depressurized. Somehow, in the seconds that followed, it had even given you a momentary burst of vitality, supplying a few seconds for you to reach out to Force’s boundless flow.

Yet, despite quickly intertwining yourself with its reassuring brush, the exquisite ache that racked your head was hardly tempered by the change of pace.

“My bad,” Anakin chuckled lightly. “Got carried away.”

There was nothing you could do to block the shaky breath that trembled past drained lips.

“Silvey?” Anakin questioned stiffly, having seemingly heard your pained exhale.

“What’s wrong?” Ahsoka intently inquired through a headset that truly felt light years away. “Did something happen?”

Out of barely-centered vision, you caught a bushy-haired shape in the main cockpit contort toward your form as a soft voice invaded your ears.

“Hey, are you…?”

“I think it’s time for Ahsoka to take my place,” you shoved out, gravelly voice nearly betraying you before you relented, resting your eyelids in a temporary rest.

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the12thnightproject · 7 days

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Chapter Five: The Carrot Exchange - Okatsu and Mitsunari figure out how to work with each other; Mai is teasing, Hideyoshi is concerned, Mitsuhide is inscrutable, and Ieyasu is annoyed.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

An alliance is often a necessary instrument of war. Two or more disparate entities agree to work together for a common goal. Alliances may share talents and resources. While some alliances may last for years, they may disintegrate once a common enemy has been vanquished. Conversely, an alliance may also be an instrument of peace, when the entities agree not to go to battle, but rather exist in a state of neutrality, even if their long-term goals are incompatible.

Personal comments: Lady Okatsu appears to have some combat skill, although, as Hideyoshi pointed out, she appears to fight first, and think second – ninety percent of the time, this is not a good tactic. (Alas, it is difficult to predict when the ten percent of success occurs, as if one ‘thinks’ that fighting first and thinking second is the correct strategy, one has already thought first… hm… must determine a better formula for determining when to fight first.)

Also. She may potentially be a spy.

I hope she is not one, as I believe she and I might become good friends.

Confined to quarters indefinitely... The fight had left me with a black eye and a cut on my cheek, and my orders were to lie low until it healed. Not out of any deference for my health, but because it was a bad look for me to walk around the castle looking like a street brawler (Hideyoshi’s words). I lay on the futon, counting the panels in the ceiling and trying to find a bright spot in the situation… if I am confined to my quarters, I might be able finish a meal?

Hm. Finish a meal if they remember to feed me, I amended when my stomach made the kind of noises that in a sci-fi movie would signal that an alien was about to tear its way out. Thankfully, soon after I heard rattling dishes and Mitsunari’s voice outside my door. “Lady Okatsu?”

“Come on in.”

Wait… if he was carrying a tray of food, he probably couldn’t open the door. That thought was followed by a vision of my dinner ending up on the floor. I got up and let him in. On the tray he carried, aside from some delicious smelling meal, was a jar of ointment and some cloth. I cleared a space on the desk.

He set the tray down, then we stood there awkwardly for a moment before I said, “I need to apologize for-” at the same time that Mitsunari said, “I’m sorry for-“

We both stopped, then tried again with the same result.

I gestured for Mitsunari to go first. “I’m sorry you were hurt.” He reached toward my eye, then pulled his hand back. “I should have protected you.”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t your fault.” Did he blame himself? I knew for a fact that Hideyoshi didn’t. “I shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place… and once the fighting started, I should have stayed out of your way.” And not assumed that he couldn’t take care of us. “It’s my fault. I didn’t think.”

Mitsunari handed me the ointment and the cloth. “For your injury. Ieyasu makes it.” I noticed he didn’t say Ieyasu had sent it. “Why did you go to talk to the sailors? You must have had a good reason.”

Well, that was nice of him to at least trust me that far. “My brother is missing, and the last information I had about him was that he had been imprisoned on a ship of some kind. So, whenever I see sailors – I ask. But normall-” I stopped short of mentioning the Katsu disguise. “Normally they answer my questions.” I picked up the ointment and sniffed it. It was a bit strong, but not unpleasant. I put some on my finger and swiped it across my cheek.

“You missed a spot – let me help.” He took the jar from me.

Mitsunari’s help would possibly result with an eye full of ointment, but the injury had occurred because I hadn’t trusted him to begin with. I sat down on the futon, then shut my eyes (I would let him treat me, but I’m not stupid).

The futon dipped a bit when Mitsunari knelt next to me. Then with a gentle touch, he lightly massaged the ointment onto my cheekbone. The warmth of his finger combined with the cool of the salve – the sensation was not unpleasant at all. It felt little like a butterfly was dancing on my skin, and I involuntarily shivered as his touch reverberated through me.

“Did I hurt you?” Mitsunari’s voice was in my ear; he sounded concerned.

“No.” I hurried to reassure him. “It tickled, actually.” Tickled wasn’t quite what I meant, but there didn’t seem to be an adequate word in my vocabulary for the feeling his tenderness had evoked.

He continued the treatment, smoothing another layer across, and I squashed a rogue desire to lean into his hand as if I were Kitty. “There. Done.”

I opened my eyes to see Mitsunari’s serious gaze right in front of me. His palm was still pressed to my cheek. Then he jerked his hand away, as if he’d been shocked. Quickly, he lurched backward and jumped to his feet.

…

Into the awkward silence that followed, I cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

That won me one of those sweet smiles – the first one I had received since we’d gotten ‘engaged.’ Then he bowed before heading toward the door. For some reason though, it felt important that he stay. For the gig, of course. We needed to be able to portray a loving couple, and that meant learning more about each other. Now was the perfect time for that. “Wait. Have you eaten?”

He paused, hovering half in and out of the doorway. Seeing that he was still undecided, I continued, “There’s more than enough for two people.”

His demeanor changed and there was a note of mischief in his voice. “Yes. If you promise to eat all the carrots. I do not like them.”

“Sure – if you do the same with the mushrooms.” Blech. I’d eat them if I had to – seven years here had taught me to eat what was given to me be it fruit, vegetable or meat, but if he’d take that fungus off my plate, then there was hope for this ‘relationship’ after all.

Mitsunari was more than willing to trade the carrots for the mushrooms, and after sorting out the food, we ate quietly for a little while, until he hit me with a surprising question. “Are you a spy?”

Oh boy.

“No.” Technically, I don’t consider myself a spy, although I knew it was kind of a grey area. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you were in Azuchi a few months ago dressed as an old man.” He seemed relatively neutral about that fact, but I imagined if he relayed that information to Hideyoshi, that man might feel far less neutral. But beyond that…

“How did you know?” It wasn’t worth denying. Even my short acquaintance with him was enough to know that he wouldn’t have brought it up if he weren’t sure.

He nodded to himself. “When we met, you were familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen you. Then, today in the bookstore, when you moved those books before they fell, I realized you had done that before.”

Again, I needed to reassess this boy. Man. He might seem like he’s in a world of his own, but he certainly didn’t miss much.

“Yes, that was me. But I wasn’t spying.” Technically I had not been. “I mean, to me, spying is sneaking into some place and stealing information that they don’t want anyone to know about, right?” He didn’t respond one way or another, so I continued. “I was observing things that anyone could have seen, if they were paying attention.”

“Hrm.” The tone was non-committal. Not sure if he understood my point, or if he simply wanted me to keep going. “What were you doing with the information?”

“Generally, it’s for those people who don’t want to be caught in the path of warring clans.” Or they wanted to figure out how to profit from it, but hey, we can’t all be altruistic. I didn’t know what else Aki did with the information I brought back, but every… for want of a better word… project I’d ever worked on him with, involved very small groups of people. Merchants who were being menaced by road bandits. Daimyos with limited territory who wanted to know if it was safe to continue to stay neutral, or if they were going to be forced into war. “In any case, Mitsuhide knows about the booksellers – my employer runs it – and if he had a problem with it, he would have put a stop to it. He uses it himself as a message drop.” Perhaps Mitsuhide didn’t know that I personally had been one of the rotating staff of observers but I’m sure he was aware of the possibility.

With an outrush of air, Mitsunari’s shoulders relaxed. “I ought to have realized Mitsuhide had taken this into consideration already.” He took a few more bites of food, located a wayward carrot in his bowl, and tried to flick it into mine.

It sailed over my head.

I’m not sure Mitsunari noticed. “If you are a professional observer, Okatsu, then you aren’t someone Mitsuhide forced into this charade. Nor are you someone whose feelings could be hurt.”

The suggestion that I had no feelings to be hurt was, in a sense somewhat hurtful, however, it seemed more than Mitsunari simply hadn’t worded what he intended to say clearly enough. “Why would my feelings be hurt?”

He concentrated on his bowl, refusing to look at me. “I don’t want to be in love with anyone. I don’t have time for it, and I don’t want you to think-”

Oh! Ah ha ha… I’d never thought he would fall for me, but I ought to have at least taken into consideration his feelings the way he was considering mine. “No worries. Once our fake engagement is called off, I’ll go back to being a messenger and a scout, and I really like that job.” I found a mushroom in my dish and relocated to Mitsunari’s with considerably more success than he had had with that carrot (which, note to self, find it and toss it out before it attracts bugs). “Anyway, I imagine being a wife would severely limit my ability to search for my brother.”

Finally, he looked up his expression intent and serious. “We are in agreement then?”

“We are.” We sealed the new understanding with a bow that narrowly missed being another injury when I saw – just in time – that our trajectory was on the path to become a head clonk.

Formal business out of the way, the rest of the meal passed more smoothly, because once expectations of love were taken away, Mitsunari relaxed completely, and we chattered away about our respective jobs. I liked this version of him and could easily picture us becoming good friends. He was sort of like a less snarky version of my brother. “I witnessed a couple of the battles of the Siege of Itami last year. Was that triple column your formation?”

He nodded.

I’d never seen anything like that before. Not in battle action. “I bet you’re really good at shogi.” It would be interesting to test myself against him.

“I don’t know how to play.” His gaze flickered to where my own set was sitting on a nearby cushion.

That surprised me. It seemed like it would be a natural fit for him. “I know Mitsuhide plays – half the messages I’ve delivered over the past four years have been a part of a long drawn-out game he’s been playing with Aki.” I reached over and picked up the set. “I could teach you.”

His eyes took on an excited sparkle. “I would enjoy that very much. Mitsuhide has refused to teach me.”

An hour later, I was lying on my stomach on the floor, chin in hands, discovering why Mitsuhide had refused to teach him. What teacher wants to lose their very first game to the new student?

In the end, I didn’t lose the first. But by the time my face healed, Mitsunari was winning most of the games we played. Because I was confined to my room (I maintain that wasn’t completely necessary but was because Hideyoshi didn’t trust me) we not only played a lot of shogi, but also Go and ban-sugoroku. My winning percentage was highest at ban-sugoroku - only because that game required only a small amount of skill and a lot more luck.

Don’t get me wrong, Mitsunari and I hadn’t become instantly inseparable. But once we’d made an agreement that we wouldn’t fall in love with each other, it was less stressful to spend time together. He would come by most evenings after he had finished his tasks for the day, and we’d eat dinner, then play games, or, if he was deeply entranced by a book, he would bring the book along and read it. He’d found a book on shogi strategy in Nobunaga’s archives, so that I would have something to read too (I hadn’t the heart to tell him I had already read it… and since I didn’t have the kind of memory he had, it was likely doing me no harm to re-read it).

The days were a bit slower going, as I was stuck in Remedial Princess Hell. Far too many mornings were spent with a maid trying to find a hairstyle I could maintain on my own (my too-fine hair was always escaping anything more elaborate than a ponytail). Hideyoshi also found my walk objectionable (it was too fast and my stride was too long, per him, and he made me practice mincing back and forth across my room, with a stip of fabric tied around my knees.

On the bright side, at least I didn’t have to negotiate walking in the thankfully-not-yet-invented stillettos. On the dark side, stillettos had yet to be invented, which meant I couldn’t stab Hideyoshi with one.

Still, it could have been worse. It had only taken one excruciating morning for Mitsuhide to determine that my knowledge of current events and politics was up to the mark (thanks to Aki). After that, I was free from that sort of tutoring.

One evening, while Mitsunari and I were playing Go, Mai came by with my new wardrobe for a final fitting. “You two are playing the less exciting version of Go.” She brushed her hand over the silk of a kimono and smiled to herself.

“Alright, since you’re clearly waiting for me to ask – what is the more exciting version?” Even though I lost the majority of the games I played with Mitsunari, I still thought they were exciting, because there was at least the possibility of winning.

“Nobunaga and I play with penalties … and favors.” She winked at me.

“Oh! So, if I were to lose, Okatsu could tell me to eat my carrots?” Mitsunari didn’t look up from the game as he was currently involved in a pincer attack on my stones. “That might add an element of daring to the game.”

“Uh, yeah. That.” She snickered quietly, then let out a soft ‘eep’ when she stabbed herself in the finger with her needle.

“Serves you right.” I had kind of figured that Mai meant a very different sort of favor altogether, which I imagined could be more exciting with the right opponent. Since I didn’t want to corrupt Mitsunari, I kept that to myself.

She simply grinned at me, then handed me a kimono. “Try that on, please.”

Mitsunari was still intent on the game – I could probably wander around naked without him noticing, but I went behind a screen to change anyway. By the time I emerged a few minutes later wearing one of Mai’s designs, he’d taken out my shogi set and appeared to be playing a game against himself, while he waited for me to return to our own game.

“This is easier to move around in.” While Mai’s own clothes had been slightly too big for me, I didn’t think having clothes that were draped precisely to my figure explained the difference completely.

“After watching you fight in that restaurant, I was inspired.” She made a minute adjustment to how the kimono lay across my waist.

“To what? Toss food at it?” Although given Mitsunari’s ability to spill things and my ability to get into trouble, having a food or blood pattern sewn into the material might not be the worst idea.

“No. But come to think about it, flying rice might create an interesting pattern.” She stepped back then gestured to the structure of the material. “The way I cut it, you have more freedom of movement. So, if you need to kick someone, or grab a hidden dagger… you can!”

“Mai! I love that!” I tried a few experimental kicks, and the material gave way to my leg, then immediately fell back into place undisturbed. “This is amazing. Thank you!”

She grinned. “This is what I do. But… don’t tell Hideyoshi.”

“Don’t tell Hideyoshi what?” that very man said as he and Mitsuhide strolled into the room.

“How much she spent on the fabric.” I jumped in because Mai could not lie to save her life.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s your due as an Oda Princess.” For a man so suspicious, Hideyoshi was awfully easy to fool.

Mitsuhide gave me a sharp look, but apparently decided to let it go. Instead, he examined me from head to toe. “Much improved. And healed. I believe we can free you from this room now.”

To prove that I could behave gracefully and sedately, I simply smiled and inclined my head. “Thank you. That would be pleasant.”

Hideyoshi nodded in approval. “I see the period of rest and reflection served you well.”

There was a cough from Mitsuhide who was still standing behind me. So softly that no one else could hear, he said, “It’s infinitely more frightening, when you are pretending to behave.”

Wasn’t that an oxymoron? I mean even if it was a pretense, I was still behaving, right? But I wasn’t in the mood to debate logic with him. I imagined that the exercise would only give me – and possibly Mitsuhide – a headache.

Getting sprung from my quarters didn’t automatically mean I was allowed to leave the castle grounds. As much as I would have dearly loved to take Moonlight out for a good ride, I was told that would have to wait until anyone other than Masamune was available to escort me. (My question to Hideyoshi: “Why not Masamune?” Hideyoshi: “Because he’s likely to goad you into a race.” Which… yes. Yes he would.)

The next best thing was archery, which thankfully was a permitted activity, so the following morning had me accompanying Mai to her lesson with Ieyasu. Mitsunari upon hearing of my intentions, joined us as well, since, as he said, he hadn’t seen Ieyasu in a few days and decided it was a good opportunity to catch up.

Ieyasu greeted us with a hat trick of insults. “Mai, it’s not necessary to bring an entourage; Okatsu, I’m not going to give a lesson to every female with a whim to take up archery; Mitsunari, I don’t know where you’ve been eating but dinners without you have been refreshingly without incident.”

Mai shrugged off his words and Mitsunari misinterpreted them altogether. “Thank you, Ieyasu. I’ve missed our conversations too.”

If Ieyasu rolled his eyes any harder, they would fly right out of his head.

“But I really really want to learn archery.” I pouted at Ieyasu. If he expected a female with a whim, that is what I would provide him. “I’m pretty sure I understand the concept. Just aim the pointy bit at those round straw thingies?”

He heaved a full body sigh, as if I had ruined not only his morning, but his entire life, then went over to Mai, presumably to begin her lesson.

“That was a joke, was it not?” Mitsunari gave me one of those vaguely unfocussed looks that generally signaled there was a lot of thought going on underneath.

Note to self: install sarcasm detection.exe

“Yep.” I sent five arrows in rapid succession into the furthest target.

“I thought as much.” Mitsunari eyed me with the interest of a general who had just been given a new weapon to play with. “Was that as fast as you can shoot, or simply a warm-up?”

“Warm up, both for speed and distance.” Why bother with false modesty when your skill set could be useful? “I’ve practiced shooting from my horse recently but I’m not up to the level of kasagake corps. Yet.”

I went through what would have been my normal practice progressions, shutting out the ambient sounds of Mai’s lesson on one side of me, and Mitsunari’s practice on the other. Once all of us were hard at work, it was almost peaceful. Archery practice is one of the few places I’ve been able to shut out the noise in my head (I’m not psychotic – I’m fully aware of the fact that I talk to myself) and I relish the quiet that intense focus brings.

Once I finished my standard workout, I switched to the new arrows that I’d purchased in the town to test those out. They were slightly heavier than what I used to – not enough to negatively impact my practice, and in fact, I was more accurate at the further distance.

When I put my bow down for the day, I realized that Mai and Ieyasu had been watching me as well. “I suppose it would be alright if you came over here to practice until you leave for Genba,” Ieyasu said, in a tragic tone of voice.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Mai handed Ieyasu the bow she’d been using.

“I know.” Ieyasu packed up his things and marched out of the yard.

Tomorrow. The first true test of our ‘relationship’ was about to begin. And Mitsunari was…

“I would be interested to know at what point increasing the weight of the arrows has a negative effect on your accuracy.” He hefted one of my new arrows in his hand.

…thinking about military strategy again.

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